She Had Always Been His Patria
by StarlitWave10
Summary: Enjolras' death gets a touch of love thrown into it.


Enjolras felt defeated.

No one had ever heard the boy describe himself in that way. Earlier that morning he had been a man, full of pride and lingering hope, but that façade had fallen away, leaving behind a boy with a piece of red fabric, his favorite toy. His dream had come to life and turned into a nightmare in one swift day. As the National Guard marched him up the stairs, Enjolras briefly wondered if death-by-shooting was painful. He'd hoped for a quick death, but he soon realized he was already dying-or perhaps already dead-as his friends were.

Courfeyrac had held onto his arm. Joly's terrified, pleading face was seared into his memory forever. He suspected that, if there was an afterlife, that face will haunt him there, too. He did not know where Grantaire had gotten off to, and at the moment he did not care.

The leader of the National Guard barked something at him, but Enjolras ignored him, staring out onto the street one last time. He held his shoulders high, and as he gazed at his beloved Patria a flame was rekindled in his eyes. A brief picture of a girl who symbolized everything he'd fought for, everyone he'd hoped to save, formed before his eyes, and he managed a small smile. At the end of everything, he was glad she had not been shot when she'd pushed that frivolous Marius out of the way of the gun. She may have been just as love struck as that Pontmercy, but Enjolras could not deny that she had a brave and true heart.

For a moment he thought he heard her voice upon the wind, and he closed his eyes. He opened them as he turned to stare into the eyes of the National Guard, daring them to shoot.

The men with the guns suddenly felt very frightened in the presence of this young man. Only moments before they had marched a boy up the stairs, one who had been defeated in this war game he'd thought, but now they were staring into the flaming eyes of a man, and then they understood why all those other young men had followed him. There was a certain passion in them, one that seemed as beautiful as the words they only imagined he had spoken in the very room in which they were standing.

The voice sounded out again. The one that had brought back his flame. Enjolras' face broke out into a look of surprise, an emotion he never thought he'd experience again, as a petite figure appeared on top of the stairs. Though not strictly beautiful, Eponine's eyes shone with as much fervor as Enjolras'. His eyes bored into hers, silently asking why she had chosen to come up and share her death with him.

A wry smirk played across her face as she went to stand next to him. Right behind her marched Grantaire. To an untrained eye, the young man was sober, but to Enjolras' keen, knowing glance, he could see that his friend was recovering from yet another heavy bout of drinking.

Enjolras recalled thinking of Grantaire during the battle, how he'd internally raged with himself at ever letting that skeptic to join Les Amis. But now, as he looked at the slightly stooping figure, whose eyes shone as brightly as Enjolras' own with the fire of the revolution, the young leader felt as though he had judged too quickly.

He felt a smile forming on his own face as he turned towards Eponine. Her hair was matted and wove around her face as she looked into his eyes. He remembered seeing her in the Café, where he'd thought she'd come in solely for that rich Pontmercy. But soon, he noticed how she was often more fixated on him than on Marius. Women had never interested him before, but he'd found he quite enjoyed the fact that she would rather listen to him than Marius.

Enjolras suddenly felt an urge to wrap the flag around Eponine, to shield her delicate body from all of the bullets that would end up piercing her olive skin. But one look at her determined gaze and suddenly all he wanted to do was kiss her with all of the passion he felt for Patria and France and the revolution.

So he did.

He dimly heard Grantaire shout _Vive la republique! _as Eponine's soft lips met his own. Enjolras lifted the flag and simultaneously clutched Eponine to his own body, mentally grinning when she wrapped her arms around her neck and kissed him back.

The shots rang out. Pain exploded all over his body; he felt like the fire from his eyes had decided to dance upon his body, its creator. Eponine winced and he pulled her closer, hoping and _praying_ that somehow she might survive, she might live. All hope left him when he felt Eponine slipping to the ground. His own knees buckled under him, his head slamming against the ground. Enjolras opened his eyes, wanting the last thing he saw to be a beautiful girl, with those flaming brown eyes, filled with as much passion as his own. To his delight, her eyes were open as well, looking back into his own.

Through the increasing fog, Enjolras noticed how the red flag was now covering a part of Eponine's body, and he smiled. A symbol of fire had become a symbol of protection, and that was all he'd ever wanted.

To protect and save his Patria. To protect and save his Eponine.

**Welp, here's little one shot for all you lovely people! I just had that scene with Enjolras' flag covering Eponine's body going through my mind, and when a muse doesn't leave me, well…I guess you're looking at it. XD**


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